


Stutter and Sing

by unsungyellowraincoat



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Even is Extra, Fluff, Gratuitous Banter, M/M, Slice of Life, eskild is guru, general weirdness because of who i am as a person, going to ikea, isak is a moody teenager who thinks in sappy similes, livet er nå, the universe is infinite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungyellowraincoat/pseuds/unsungyellowraincoat
Summary: Isak, Even, the mundane and the extraordinary.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> this fic follows isak and even for one week. here is monday. there are six scenes in this chapter, i named them lemonade / i'd go anywhere / the boy who didn't have a desk / helium / micke / science.

**LEMONADE**

It’s Monday, the weather in Oslo is dismal, and Isak is sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice in hand, moping.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Eskild pops his head through the doorway, his voice sounding way too chirpy for this unearthly hour. Isak grunts in response, not taking his eyes off his glass. Eskild can keep his early birds and worms and the whole rest of that cuisine, and he can flush his sunshine down the toilet along with the remains of Isak’s life and that jar of moldy Old El Paso Isak keeps forgetting to throw away.

Eskild turns on the radio and hums, and Isak hears him rummage through the cupboards and chop something on the cutting board while he keeps staring down at the bubbles forming and disappearing in his juice. Suddenly the chopping stops, and Eskild clicks his tongue. “I thought we had an agreement? No sexting on school nights.”

Ugh. Isak finishes his orange juice in one loud gulp and almost slams the glass on the table, shooting Eskild a glare. He realizes he is moping, but he also thinks he has every right to feel this way. Everyone would agree with him if only they knew the details.

“I’m guessing those bags under your eyes aren’t from sexting, then. Spit it out,” Eskild says, taking a seat at the end of the table and clenching his hands in his lap. Isak glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

It’s true that the reason he is loitering in the kitchen at seven thirty in the morning like some crossword loving senior citizen when he could still be wrapped up in blankets like a sensible person is because, after some thinking, he wants to get this off his chest. And by thinking he means a night spent tossing and turning and looking at his pathetic reflection on his phone screen after his battery died from too much Clash of Clans. He wants to be asked Isak you look sad what’s wrong, and then he’d say everything’s wrong and he’s probably dying, and then maybe everything would be fixed, just like that.  But there is also a part of him that is too ashamed to even utter the words.

Isak slumps on his chair. “Even hates me,” he finally blurts out, and he hears his own voice cracking.

“Really? You know, the walls have ears, and they tell me he didn’t sound too hateful last Saturday night at approximately 10:20 pm,” Eskild gives Isak a knowing glance and purses his lips together, looking awfully pleased with himself. Isak’s face flushes at the memory, so he shoves it away, wills it away with clenched fists and then curses Eskild because great, his one last good memory with Even is now forever ruined by the knowledge that they weren’t the only people in the house.

“Forget it, whatever.”

“Try me.”

“Just forget it.”

 “Did you tell him you’re going to chop his dick off with a chainsaw and feed it to angry pigeons in Tøyen?” Eskild asks, taking a bite out of his toast.

“What? No.”

“Did you tell him you’ve been faking it nine times out of ten?”

“What, NO!”

“Did you tell him you’re going to make your guru sit here taking guesses all day long while his coffee goes cold?”

Isak swallows hard, grimacing. “We had a fight yesterday and I…I snapped. And I – I might’ve told him to fuck off,” he says and sinks down in his chair, shoulders bowed, his voice coming out small and strained. “I said things I didn’t mean. I… I wasn’t thinking straight,” he mutters, fixing his gaze on some breadcrumbs on the table as if they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

It had been a stupid, stupid argument. The kind you have when you have a deadline at midnight and your laptop is acting up and you’re spilling drink all over your favorite hoodie and there’s a piece of popcorn stuck between your teeth that just won’t come out and you have a boyfriend who just happens to be there. Isak remembers Even fussing over his coffee-stained clothes with a towel and a pack of tissues, and then it had all happened very fast. You need to take that off here let me, _just give me some fucking space jesus christ_ , okay okay okay, FUCK, look I think I’ll go home for a bit okay. The sound of a door closing very quietly, footsteps receding down the hallway, and the long and dragging hours of silence that followed afterwards.

Eskild gasps and all but drops his toast onto the plate, then presses his palm to his heart. ”Straight people and their ways, _herregud_ ,” he says before crossing his legs and leaning closer to Isak, cupping his hand to the side of his mouth and lowering his voice. “Now don’t get me wrong, I care for Noora and Linn very dearly, such bright young girls, both of them, and I respect their lifestyle – whatever gets your juices flowing, girl. But those straight people, with their ski jumping and killing wolves? Baffling, simply baffling. As your guru I am pleased to hear that you don’t think like them,” he gives Isak an approving nod before taking a sip of his coffee with a raised pinky.

Isak crushes a breadcrumb with his index finger, but he feels the corners of his mouth twitching in spite of himself. Deep down he does appreciate Eskild trying to cheer him up, and maybe it’s even working a little bit, judging from the way his nose now itches, although he would never admit it aloud because this is _Eskild_. 

“I thought you liked ski jumping.”

“I like ski _jumpers_ , Isak. The sport? Ridiculous. The butts? _Bellissimo_.”

Isak snorts, then scratches his nose and takes a deep breath. There is still that knot of guilt twinging in his stomach, that old fear, that voice at the back of his head whispering _what if._

“I don’t know what to do. I fucked up.”

Eskild sighs and moves his chair closer to Isak. “Look, Isak, I’m not saying that you fucked up – or that you didn’t, for that matter. But you need to realize that sometimes it happens. Getting angry, saying things you don’t mean. Sometimes you fuck up, that’s just the way it is.”

“But –“

“And then you owe up to it. That’s what being in a relationship is about. You need to have a little faith. You’re a fantastic kid, Isak, never forget that. Even doesn’t hate you. He _adores_ you. One fight won’t change that.”

“I guess…”

“Come on, didn’t Lemonade teach you anything?”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Huh?”

“You’re testing my guru goodwill now.”

“But like, what do I do now?”

“Besides listening to Lemonade by Queen Beyoncé, you ask? Buy him a Swarovski crystal, send him a bouquet of roses or your nudes? You tell me. You’re the one dating him, I’m sure you can figure it out,” Eskild pats him on the head and gives him an encouraging smile. “ _Follow your instinct_ ” he finishes in English, waving his hand through the air as if twirling a magic wand.

“Okay… Thanks, Eskild.”

“You’re welcome. Now, go pack your school bag and apologize to your boyfriend. I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast here, and moody teenagers feeling sorry for themselves kind of ruin my appetite.”

Isak rolls his eyes and then lifts himself from the chair, and odd enough, his limbs already feel lighter, as if Eskild had just given him a very good massage (Isak shudders at the thought of _that_ ). He leaves his empty glass in the sink and retreats to his room, just not fast enough to miss the voice shouting at him from the breakfast table.

“L-E-M-O-N-A-D-E.”

 

****************

 

**I'D GO ANYWHERE**

Isak closes the door behind him, throws himself on the bed and runs his hand through his hair. He considers his options. He can’t afford jewelry. He also can’t afford going to prison for robbery at the tender age of seventeen, Sana would _kill_ him for missing their presentation. So that’s off the list. A bouquet of roses? That doesn’t feel like Even. Even is more of a sunflower. Not a sunflower in a vase but one that blooms outside, wild and untamed, taller than all the others. Only it’s hard to find a wild sunflower in Oslo when it’s sleeting outside. Nudes, Eskild what the fuck.

Isak’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

_Isak, I have sent you some money. Please use it to buy a desk for your room so you can study better. Hugs, Dad._

Ugh.

 _ok cool thanks_ , he sends a quick reply, then opens another chat, breathes in and out and begins to type with sweaty palms and trembling fingers.

 

I’m sorry I was a dick last night

I like your dick

that's now what I meant

I know

I was being stupid

I didn't mean any of it

I miss you

aren’t you mad?

what makes you think I’m mad?

you left

I'm sorry

I left so you could be alone ❤

oh

do you want to come to ikea with me today?

dad wants me to buy a desk lmao

hold on let me check my schedule

fine I’ll take my other boyfriend then I hear he misses me

❤

You know I’d go anywhere with you.

it’s only ikea though

I’m sorry it’s a boring place

there’s a shuttle bus from Dronningens gate at 5 pm

meet me at the station 15 min prior?

can’t wait ❤

❤

you’re hot when you’re angry

Even its like 8 am

but also

eskild told me to send you nudes lol

I like Eskild

you can ask him for his nudes

he’d probably happily comply

texting him as we speak

bye

❤

❤

 

Isak clutches his phone to his chest and closes his eyes.

 

***************

 

**THE BOY WHO DIDN'T HAVE A DESK**

It’s still drizzling when Isak gets off the tram at Oslo Central Station. He immediately spots Even standing outside the station in his green coat and cherry red beanie, and his heart skips a beat. It’s been less than 24 hours since Isak last saw him, yet somehow it feels like the past 24 hours have only made him more beautiful. He’s a sudden rainbow in the grayness of the day, talking to a woman with a map, drawing something on the map with the pen he always keeps in his inside pocket and occasionally pointing in different directions with his arm, smiling, nodding, blooming wild and untamed. Isak considers waving his hand to catch his attention but then quickly stops himself. He likes seeing Even interact with other people. He likes watching people orbit around him, laughing at his jokes, basking in his smiles, nodding along to his rants.

Isak admits he doesn’t have many big aspirations or ambitions for himself. He’s good at school, fair enough, and he does work hard in biology, partly because he likes getting good grades but mostly because he just happens to find the subject very interesting, but he doesn’t, like, envision himself researching gorillas in some jungle in Borneo 20 years from now.

But sometimes, after a particularly good goodnight make-out session when he can still feel the ghosts of Even’s skin linger on his own like steam on a glass, Isak’s mind will begin to wander. They’re in an award ceremony, and he sees Even standing on the stage giving a speech while Isak is standing behind a curtain, watching the audience drink in Even’s every word, relishing his light. He hears the audience cheer and roar and clap their hands in unison, his heart swelling with pride, and he can feel a smug smile creep onto his lips because he knows Even, he knows his sweat and snores and burbs and moans, he knows the Even no one else knows, and he knows Even will leave the podium and return backstage and he will kiss Isak on the mouth quick but hard and say –

“Halla.”

Isak blinks, startled, only now noticing Even standing right in front of him and peering into his face.

“Halla,” he breathes out.

“Baby, you look tired,” Even says and brushes his thumb across Isak’s cheek, catching a raindrop that is steadily making its way down and towards his lips.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Isak pouts, probably sounding like a needy baby.

“You sure you don’t want to go home and have a nap instead?” Even wraps one arm around Isak’s shoulder as they stand side by side in the freezing cold drizzle waiting for the light to let them cross the street to Karl Johans gate. “I could spoon you.”

If Isak were told to make a list of his favorite things to do, napping and spooning would definitely deserve a place in his top ten, while shopping at IKEA would rank somewhere between peeling a bucketful of potatoes and listening to a round of Eskild’s blood-stopping shower medleys (or worse, _duets_ ), and even then only if Isak is feeling particularly generous and well-rested. So Isak has to fight the urge to kiss his boyfriend right there in the middle of Oslo and turn around his heels to skip back home, their arms linked and all.

However, if there’s one thing Isak deems worse than shopping at IKEA, it’s shopping at IKEA with his dad.

They have been getting along a lot better after Isak came out to himself and the rest world, and the bitterness Isak used to feel towards him is gone, most of the time. Two weeks ago Isak had genuinely freaked himself out by replying to his dad’s text with a meme, and it had taken exactly three pinches and two wet kisses from Even before he was ready to believe he wasn’t hallucinating – well, truth to be told, he was already more than convinced after the third pinch, but if an opportunity to ask for a kiss presents itself, Isak will damn right take it.

They are getting along now, that much is true, but are they close, no, they aren’t, and Isak isn’t entirely confident that they ever will be. They still run out of things to say after the three-minute mark, their phone calls consisting mostly of conversational coughing and did-you-say-somethings. Isak does not want to risk his dad getting any ideas about turning this quest for a desk into an awkward family outing.

“I just want to get this over with to get my dad off my back,” he says, absentmindedly kicking a cigarette butt on the ground.

“A desk, huh?” A spark of electricity runs down Isak’s nape as Even fixes his hood with one hand and hums.

“Apparently my dad thinks I need a desk to do my homework,” he rolls his eyes.

Even lets out a hearty laugh and shakes Isak by the shoulder like an eccentric coach in some corny American sports movie. “And your dad is right! What do all Nobel Prize winners have in common, Isak?” he looks at Isak expectantly with raised eyebrows and a smirk playing on his lips.

“They’re all geniuses,” Isak sighs, giving his best attempt to sound bored.

“Wrong! They all had a desk!” Even laughs and flashes a triumphant smile before abruptly pulling Isak closer to his chest into a clumsy half-hug, swaying them both from side to side, slush splashing under their feet.

Hands still tucked in his coat pockets Isak mumbles against Even’s scarf, the soft fabric muffling his giggle.

“You’re so lame.”

“Says the boy who didn’t have a desk.”

A moment passes before either of them notices that the light has changed to green.

 

***************

 

**HELIUM**

IKEA is just like Isak members it. It’s a box. A blue, over-sized box filled with too many people and too many things. It’s a hodgepodge of meatballs, carts, lost pens, rugs, cups, hangers, rocking chairs, and sweaty red reflections in Godmorgon bathroom mirrors. It’s the same as always, and then it’s not. Because the last time he was here he was with his parents, and he was bored, and grumpy, and then they were arguing, and he was hiding in a model kids’ bedroom wishing he was anywhere but here.

And now he’s here, in a model kids’ bedroom, watching his boyfriend play with stuffed animals, and his heart is like a runaway balloon, going higher and higher up, beating with pure helium.

”You should start working here, Isak! I bet you’d look cute in that yellow uniform!”

Isak snorts. “I bet I’d look like shit.”

“You’d be like a cute little duckling! The cutest little duckling in all of Oslo!” Even grins, tilting his head to the side as if to admire Isak from head to toe like a painter in Paris working on a portrait.

“In your dreams,” Isak groans and lifts his hand to knock away the stuffed pig Even is currently trying to thrust in his face, awarding a half a wink half a pout from Even.

 “Maybe we should both start working here, what do you say! Think about it, we’d have matching uniforms,” Even says as he makes two stuffed pigs kiss.

“You’d look like that bird from Sesame Street.”

Even’s eyes widen. “You think I’m that hairy, Isak!? Baby, I’m an adult man! You see, us adult men, we have body hair, you know? But there’s no need for you to feel self-conscious, I’m _sure_ yours will grow in time,” he says, his eyes lighting up like he’d just come up with the innovation of the century. “Or! You could get body hair extensions if it makes you feel better. It won’t change how I feel about you. I’ll hold your hand when you place that order online, I promise. I’ll hold your hand in my adult man hand the entire time,” he says, nodding firmly with a stuffed animal in both hands.

“You can keep your adult man hands to yourself, we’re breaking up.”

“I don’t feel like breaking up with you today,” Even smiles and moves closer to lightly ruffle what Isak imagines must be his gross hat hair, long fingers lingering on a particularly stubborn curl, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs. And Isak thinks it is the sweetest sound.

Isak isn’t an expert on love. He knows love as a story. He’s seen it unfold on screen so many times. He knows Titanic. He knows those cowboys that made him wipe off a tear onto Even’s thigh, head nestled on his lap. He even knows Richard Gere now, and that to get Even in the mood all Isak needs to do is to rest his finger on Even’s bottom lip and whisper _you’re hotter than young Richard Gere_ in a breathy voice. But love as a feeling, its definition eludes him. All he knows is that when Even laughs, for that moment everything is illuminated.

When Even laughs, his whole face lights up. He shines, and it’s contagious. The shine finds Isak and spreads through his body like a splash of watercolors running across a paper sheet. It tingles in his fingertips like a premonition, it tickles his spine like an explosion of feathers, and even as it begins to fade, it leaves a warm glow in his stomach reminding him of late summer twilights on his mother’s porch. The shine finds Isak, and it makes his head buzz with thoughts so utterly sappy and saccharine that somewhere in a parallel universe there is probably an Isak desperately begging not to be associated with this embarrassing 17-year-old Norwegian Michael Bublé.

Isak reaches out his hand to lightly brush Even’s shoulder, as if removing a loose thread there, and a quiet little sigh of contentment escapes his lips as he imagines Even in a canary yellow IKEA t-shirt. Because yeah, who is he kidding, his boyfriend would look like an actual ray of sunshine.

“Were you saying something?”

“Hmm?” Isak blinks and turns the table lamp off and then on again, off and then on again. “I just like seeing you laugh. “

“You’re so fucking cute. I’m going to name this little piggy Isak. Your cheeks are the same color, after all.”

“Shut up notheyrenot.”

 

****************

 

**MICKE**

“You don’t have a lot of space so it can’t be too big.”

“This one’s pretty small.”

“Micke!? That’s a boy’s name, Isak!” Even totters backwards and smacks his palm into his forehead. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this. You with a Swedish boy desk!” he gasps, eyes twinkling like sparklers.

“Well I don’t exactly see any desks named Even here lying around!”

“If I were a desk would you buy me?” Even asks, now half sitting on the small white desk with one hand in his pocket and one hand stroking the surface of the desk.

Isak crinkles his nose. “If my dad gives me the money,” he teases, running his fingers over the price tag.

“I’d buy you, too.” Even wiggles his eyebrows and nudges Isak’s shoe with his. “In every universe.”

“I don’t think they’d sell Even desks here, though. You’d like, have to climb to the top of a mountain and beat a goblin there or something and only then you’d get it, and there’d like, be only one, it’d be so rare, and stuff –“ Isak realizes he is rambling.

Even’s hand stops its movement and his mouth opens and then closes again as if a myriad of words had fallen out unspoken and escaped, but when Isak meets his gaze, his eyes glow like iridescent clouds. For a moment Isak can’t help but wonder if Even maybe misheard him and is now under the impression that he has discovered a cure to cancer in biology class.

“All right,” Even breaks the silence, then licks his lips and gives the desk firm a pat.

“I’m fine with Micke moving in with you now.”

 

*****************

 

**SCIENCE**

It’s past nightfall when they finally emerge to the parking lot, but the darkness that surrounds them is not quite dark. Instead, it’s hues of blue illuminated by large flossy snowflakes swirling under streetlamps like gleaming shoals of fish.

“I bet you suck at catching snowflakes,” Even says.

“I suck at catching snowflakes!? I’m the MASTER of catching snowflakes!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it!”

“The one who catches the most is the winner.”

“On three, okay? One, two, three –“

Isak takes a step forward and sticks his tongue out. Something cold falls on top of it, a hint of metal in its taste, melting, and then it’s gone. A drop of water, then a drop of spit. The moment won’t repeat. The snowflake won’t repeat. In the blink of an eye, it’s in him, a particle of the universe. Isak spreads his arms wide, looks up to the sky that is there, somewhere, behind the veil of the weather, and he stays that way for a while, standing with his mouth open, staring into the infinite dark eye of the universe, squinting as drops of melting snow slide down his eyelashes, and the universe stares back, or so it feels like, for a flickering moment, the balloon and the snowflake and the eye of infinity, and he is expanding, the balloon is expanding, and the universe, expanding, the amount of feeling in him too immense for his body to contain.

“How many did you catch?” Even’s arms wrap around his waist and turn him around.

“At least five hundred,” Isak says, turning up his nose.

“Liar,” Even pokes Isak’s arm.

“You’re a sore loser. I know you caught less than me.”

“Let’s see, I caught five hundred and…,” Even counts on his fingers, then suddenly bends down to lick the tip of Isak’s nose, “…one.”

 

The bus back to central Oslo is almost empty. Even leads the way to the back of the bus, letting Isak take the window seat. The snow from their shoes melts into small puddles that trickle down the floor as the bus jolts. Their coats are wet and heavy, but Isak nestles his head on Even’s shoulder anyway, humming very quietly as Even gives his hands a little rub to before lacing their fingers together. He’s cold and tired and wet and uncomfortable and so, so safe.

“I think it’s interesting how…” he murmurs in a sleepy voice, “snowflakes all look the same on the ground, right?”

“Right.”

“But when you look at them through a microscope, they’re all different, all these unlimited variations that depend on the, on the circumstances, so you can’t, like, catch the same one twice, because of the unlimited variations, so if you miss it, it won’t come back –”

“So you should appreciate every snowflake as it falls?” Even asks, drawing slow circles on the back of Isak’s hand with his thumb.

“Mmmh,” Isak smiles to himself, a sleepy, sheepish smile, his eyelids feeling heavy and drooping.

“That’s very poetic,” Even whispers into his hair, his breath cozy like hot chocolate and woolen sweaters, and Isak’s only regret is that he can’t penetrate through their coats to squish his nose against the warm silk of Even’s skin to breathe in the scent of him like he does every night before falling asleep.

“It’s _science_ , baby,” he says, and then he dozes off, and his hand, it doesn’t let go.


	2. Monday: deleted scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dicks and cuteness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little drabble originally posted on [tumblr](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/), a small deleted scene from their Ikea adventures if you would like.

”Say, how would you feel if we took our relationship to the next level?”

“Are you proposing?” Isak arches an eyebrow.

“After you insulted my adult man body? Baby, you should be so lucky,” Even says and pinches the tip of Isak’s nose. “No, I’m talking about this,” he holds out a flat yellow object.

“What’s that?”

“Never seen an ice cube tray before?”

“No, I mean, what’s the plan here?”

“The plan is to get matching ice cube trays.”

“We never even make ice cubes.”

“Do we have ice cube trays?”

“No.”

“Do you see the connection here?”

Isak rolls his eyes, letting out a small puff of air.

“Now, do you want to get matching ice cube trays with me, Isak?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Even is looking at him very intently now.

“Okay.”

Even picks up two other rubber trays from the pile, one pink and the other one blue, and shows them to Isak one by one like a magician about to perform a card trick. “Which one do you prefer? Stars, flowers or dicks?”

“I’m pretty sure those are fish,” Isak says, rubbing his chin.

“Look at you, all those biology lessons paying off,” Even pokes Isak’s arm with his finger.

“You have to admit that’d be one weird shaped dick,” Isak chuckles and tries to grasp Even’s finger before it pulls away, failing.

“What can I say, I’m a dreamer,” Even shrugs. “So, which one?”

“The dicks,” Isak says, crinkling his nose.

“Thought so. Good choice,” Even nods and flashes a smile. “Because look at what it says here,” he points at the bottom of the tray.

“Made in China?” Isak manages to ask before Even covers his mouth with his hand.

Even turns his eyes to the tray and pretends to read it like a manual. “This multi-purpose tray is perfect for those times when you need to kiss your boyfriend in the cooking department of IKEA Furuset because he is being so fucking cute.”

“What does that even mean?” Isak mumbles against Even’s palm.

“I think it means this,” Even whispers and leans closer, shielding their faces with the blue rubber tray.

It’s the softest, the briefest kiss, like dandelion fluff on the wind, quietly brushing against a birch leaf before being swept off again. It’s a touch, a gentle brushing of lips, and it leaves a ghost on Isak’s chapped lips, like a fingerprint slowly dissolving into water. It’s the softest, the briefest kiss, but even after it breaks, the leaf inside him keeps on wavering.

“I’ve never had matching ice cube trays before,” Isak exhales, eyelids still fluttering.

“Me neither,” Even says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I think I’m going to name mine Isak.”

“Oh, so now you think I have a weird dick?” Isak arches an eyebrow.

“Isak, you’re too horny, always thinking about dicks,” Even wiggles his eyebrows and pats Isak on the head with the tray. “No, I’m not naming it after your dick.”

“So what are you naming it after, then?”

“I’m naming it after my favorite word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of eyebrows wiggling and arching, oops lazy writing! Anyway, thank you much for your encouraging words and kudos, I will try to have have an actual chapter posted one of these days.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic here, hello world. you can also find me on [tumblr](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/), come talk to me if you're ever bored. the title is from the poem i have found what you are like by e.e. cummings.
> 
> i started writing this to cheer myself up, but there will be more chapters, maybe 3 in total, and there is a small plot buried here somewhere, but i'm trying to write this in a way that these chapters also work as one shots. english is not my native language so i'm sorry if i butchered anything.


End file.
